


The Wanderer.

by rainbow_nerds



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Albion, Arthur Pendragon Returns (Merlin), Canon Compliant, Except Merlin doesn't get old, Gen, I really like Sarah I wish I could have written more of her, Immortal Merlin (Merlin), Lake Avalon, M/M, Merlin is an urban legend, Post-Canon, Reincarnation, Sad Merlin (Merlin), can you tell I haven't watched the show in years?, conflict what conflict, they live happily ever after
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:27:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22233265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbow_nerds/pseuds/rainbow_nerds
Summary: After Arthur's death, Merlin wanders, waiting for the time his king will return. Magic slowly fades from the land, and Albion becomes unrecognisable, and still, he waits.Until something changes, and Merlin feels his magic stirring again. Could this be Albion's time of great need?
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 115





	The Wanderer.

**Author's Note:**

> This idea came to me, essentially fully formed while I was trying too start an assignment, and I just had to write it.  
> Barely edited, so let me know if it's unreadable!   
> TW for a very quick, blink and you'll miss it reference to child abuse. It's barely half a sentence, mentioned in passing, but just in case it's sensitive, it comes about halfway through, after Merlin tells his story!  
> Hope you enjoy xxx

The years passed slowly and quickly all at once. Queens and kings came and went, wars were fought and won, and Merlin wandered. The landscape changed, trees growing and falling, dwellings built and fell, and Merlin wandered. Until one day he looked up and saw a completely different world from the one he had been born and raised in. Camelot was a barely discernible ruin, and his friends nothing but legend. Even the great lake of Avalon had dried to an insignificant pool as magic faded from the world.

Physically, he had hardly changed at all. Though his hair may have been longer, and his face mostly obscured by a ragged beard, those he passed could occasionally discern a glint of blue eyes above high cheekbones. On the inside, though, Merlin was not the same young man who had once faced a great destiny at the right hand of the king. It had been years, centuries really, since he last felt the tingle of magic beneath his skin, since he had heard the voice of the great Dragon urging him to help Arthur.

Those he passed whispered tales, though he never spoke to them. Father to son, mother to daughter, they spoke about the dark-haired man who never grew old and never spoke. While stories of the great King Arthur and his knights spread far and wide, and the name Merlin became synonymous with magic itself, the nameless man became a bedtime story told by parents in the area where he wandered, and he became a legend in a different way. The stories told that he was waiting for something and would not speak until it came. They told that he had been waiting since the dawn of time, since the earth began to turn, and would wait until it died in a ball of flame.

Occasionally, a child would approach him bravely, perhaps on a dare and ask what he was waiting for, but the only answer they received was a lingering, empty stare. They rarely stayed long enough to see the sadness, the sheer sense of loss behind the startlingly bright eyes, but those that did never forgot. They walked away from the man and never spoke of what they had seen, for how could they put into words the message they had received from the strange man? They would run home and hold their loved ones close and would never forget the deep, incomprehensible loss they had seen in his eyes.

As the world turned, and communities grew, the world grew darker. Magic may have faded but lives became more complicated. Merlin watched each new war, each new threat to Albion, and wondered if this would be the time. It never was. The world grew darker, politics became more and more complicated, and still he wandered. He heard the stories told about him, and though he longed to reach out to those who approached him, he couldn’t bear to watch them grow old as he remained the same.

This was his life, and he was resigned to it. He had begun to realise, with the changing of lands and nations, the decline of Albion as he knew it, that his king would likely never return. His destiny would continue unfulfilled. Towards the beginning, he had had some regrets. Perhaps he should have revealed himself sooner and helped Arthur see that magic could be used for good? Perhaps he should have intervened as he saw Camelot begin to crumble after Gwen’s death, many years after her husband’s? Those regrets faded, with time, replaced by apathy. The memories were as vivid as ever, though, and sometimes when he slept he could almost feel as though the intervening years had never happened, and he was right back on the shores of Avalon, mourning the death of the man who should have been his destiny.

And so it went, day by day, year by year, century by century. Until something changed.

The day was like any other, and he walked along a long-forgotten path which had not been laid when he had begun his wandering. It came as quite a surprise, therefore when his routine was interrupted by a whisper.

_“Merlin…”_

He started, looked around, but nobody was there. He wondered if he was losing himself too much in his memories, that the voice of the Dragon seemed to call him through time. But the dragon was gone, along with everything else he had known. He kept walking, slowly making his way to a town he knew, where he could obtain something to eat or drink from a kindly old woman who knew to turn a blind eye to his odd appearance, and happily fed him when he showed up after a long absence.

The company was nice, though they never actually spoke. She had been little more than a child when they first met, lonely and quiet as he was, and she seemed to be comforted by his presence. He didn’t know where her family were, or what her life looked like beyond those quiet evenings, but he found himself returning over the years, and had to admit he had missed human connection, as sparse as this was.

As he sat in her kitchen, the shining counter-tops, cables and devices which had so amazed him at first now feeling rather familiar, he heard the whisper again. This time he managed to avoid jumping, but she seemed to notice something odd nonetheless, for her eyes met his and she blinked curiously.

“You’re different, today. You’re never different.”

She rarely spoke, and Merlin didn’t know how to respond. He merely nodded and finished the tea she had made him. As he stood to leave, he caught sight of his reflection in the window of her kitchen and could almost have sworn he saw a glint of gold in the eyes which had been blue for so long.

That night, he didn’t sleep. Instead, he made his way to the pool which had formerly been lake Avalon and found his reflection in the water. Though it was dark, he could still make out the gold in his eyes. Magic? It couldn’t be, his own magic had long since faded, along with the rest of the magical community, with the only remnant being the strange power which kept him alive and youthful looking.

But there it was, undeniably shining from his eyes. He shut them tight, searching within himself for that spark, which had once been as familiar as his own heartbeat within him, and the loss of which happened so gradually that he hardly noticed until it had faded entirely. For what felt like hours, he sat there, searching, until the sun was beginning to shine through the leaved overhead.

Finally, he felt it. It was tiny, almost imperceptible, but he felt an unmistakeable flicker deep, deep down. His magic was there. Had it always been there, deep down, or had it just returned. Merlin didn’t know, but the sense of it after so many years was overwhelming. For the first time in centuries, Merlin felt emotion welling within himself, and before he could comprehend it, he was crying.

The tears were cathartic, and he had not even realised how blank he had felt for so long. He cried great wracking sobs which shook his whole body, until the sun was high in the sky and he lay once again by the shores of Avalon as he had so many times over the years.

Now that he had noticed it, the flicker of magic within him grew, and before long he found himself making sparks from his fingertips, levitating leaves and twigs, creating marvellous displays just for himself. And just as the sobs had overtaken him in the night, he realised that the feeling bubbling within him with each new trick was the closest thing to joy he had felt since Arthur lived. He was optimistic.

He had acquired a meager set of possessions throughout the years, gifts from those who had come across him, and as the need arose, he had managed to eke out a living carrying out some manual work for farmers who didn’t ask too many questions, never staying longer than a season, and avoiding contact as much as possible. He very rarely strayed too far into town, but today he felt different. He gathered up his pack and made his way into town.

The shop he entered was quiet, and he made his purchases quickly and discretely. The coins he used to pay were certainly legal tender, though he was sure they were much older than the shopkeeper was used to seeing, for they were eyed wearily. Merlin hoped that the magic in his eyes would remain hidden as the woman looked at him, before shrugging and putting the money in the register.

He rushed back to the old woman’s house, and she opened the door to his knock, appearing surprised to see him again so soon.

“May I use your bathroom?” He asked, voice raspy from a lack of use. If she had been surprised to see him, this was nothing to her reaction to hearing his voice, for he had never spoken in their fifty years of companionship. She simply nodded, and pointed down the hallway away from the kitchen, to a part of the house he had not visited.

The room was bright and clean, like the rest of her house, but Merlin did not pause to take it in. He simply set to work, emerging almost an hour later, freshly washed and clean-shaven, and wearing new clothes which felt simultaneously fresh and foreign on his skin.

When he approached the old woman again, carrying his old clothes in his shopping bag and smiling softly, she simply stared at him, the only noise escaping her lips being a soft “ _oh”._

“I feel I should probably explain myself.” He said, softly, wary of shocking her more than he already had. She nodded and pottered off to boil the kettle as Merlin began his story.

His voice wavered in the beginning, but it became stronger the more he spoke, aided by the hot tea, and as he reached the end, he shrugged.

“I felt you deserved the truth. Thank you, for inviting me in.” It was only then that he realised how unbelievable his tale had sounded. She would hardly believe him, would wonder what she had been thinking inviting such a lunatic into her home. She would have grown up hearing tales of king Arthur and seeing the illustrations of Merlin as a grey haired, wizened old mage. He met her eyes, begging her to believe, and to his surprise, she spoke.

“My name is Sarah, I’m not sure if I ever said. I’m glad you told me, Merlin. Goodness gracious, I knew you were older than you appeared, but I would have never imagined this!” She laughed, and he found himself joining in. Another knot within himself began to unfurl at the sound. They sat in the kitchen for quite a while, and he finally asked Sarah to tell him her story.

She told him of being orphaned at a young age, of the cruel people who had taken her in, and how she had run away to this small town. He learned that she had never found love, though she had always wondered if there may have been potential with the woman who ran the stall next to hers at the craft fair. Merlin felt a twinge at this, and for a brief second, he could see a flash of familiar golden hair, but he forced himself not to dwell on it, and instead focused on Sarah’s story.

More tea was made and drank, and they talked for hours, neither quite believing what was happening. Eventually, once it had grown dark again, Sarah asked the question which he realised she must have been holding back for quite some time.

“So, Merlin. I realise the legends aren’t quite true, but surely… Is magic real? How can it be so hidden?”

He frowned. “It was real, I’m not… I’m not sure what happened, really. It faded a long time ago, and I thought it was lost forever, until today.” He gestured towards the small stove in the corner, and drew out a puff of the smoke, shaping it into a dragon just as he had in the woods outside Camelot, all those years ago. Her mouth fell open, and she clapped enthusiastically.

“something must have changed, last night.” She mused. “What was it that the prophecy said, again?”

Merlin thought carefully. “it was that… That when Albion’s need was greatest… then Arthur would rise again. But after living through so much, especially in the last hundred years, I can’t believe there could be a greater need to come. Besides, this country, it isn’t really Albion anymore, is it?”

Sarah looked thoughtful at this, but nodded ruefully. Merlin sighed and leaned back into his chair. They fell into silence, sitting together as they had so many times before, though this time was different. Merlin smiled ruefully and stood.

“I should go. I need to try and figure out what’s happening. There’s something changing, but I can’t figure what it is.” He turned towards the door, put paused, turning back to her to add, “I will return, I promise. You’re the best friend I have had in a great many years.” With that, he thanked her and let himself out of her home, making his way back out of the town.

The dragon’s voice echoed again, and he let himself follow it, not sure how he could tell the direction, but trusting the magic within him not to lead him astray.

For several days he journeyed northwards, not knowing where the voice was leading him. It wasn’t until he crested a hill and saw the ruins laid out before him, that he realised he had been headed for Camelot all along. As if by instinct, he navigated through the stones until he found himself at an overgrown cave entrance, which he cleared with a flash of his eyes. He had missed being able to do that.

The cave sloped downwards, and before long he was struck by the familiarity of it. It was Kilgarrah’s cave, unchanged since he had last seen it, though the ledge he had once stood on to speak to the dragon was quite a distance away.

Merlin was unsurprised to see the dragon appear before him.

“Long time, no see.” Merlin said, and the hint of bitterness to his voice, while unexpected, felt right.

“Young Emrys. You have not changed.” Merlin laughed bitterly at this.

“I can hardly be called ‘young’ anymore. I believe you are the only being left older than me. What is happening?” The Dragon shifted and remained silent for a moment before responding.

“I have slumbered for many years. Magic has left this world, and the time of Albion has long since left us. You are correct, that we two are the only ones remaining who recall the old ways. Yet there is a stirring; you have felt it also, if you have journeyed here.” Merlin nodded. “I sense that Albion is more than the name itself. A great danger approaches. The once and future king will return, and you must be prepared. Your destiny will be fulfilled, Emrys.”

Merlin nodded, hardly allowing himself to feel what those words stirred within himself. Was that excitement? Surely, with such darkness approaching, he should be feeling dread, fear, maybe determination, but instead his only thought was for Arthur, for the golden man he had loved and rowed with in equal measure.

“Will he be at Avalon?” Merlin questioned, though he knew already, from the pull in his heart, that the answer would be yes.

“Go, Emrys. Find him.” Merlin nodded and turned on his heel. He hardly noticed the journey back to the seemingly insignificant pool. What had taken over a week initially, now took less than a day, and Merlin reached the spot where he had first felt his magic return eagerly.

He closed his eyes, and reached out.

_Arthur? Are you there?_

His mind called out to the lifeless water. When asked later, Merlin would never be sure how long he knelt there, eyes closed, mind searching, but eventually, he felt something, someone else, reaching back.

His magic exploded out of him, as if it had been waiting for this moment, and began to pull.

A hand, holding a sword which was impervious to rust.

A body, armoured in a style which was barely even seen in museums these days.

A head, covered in golden hair.

And a face, the face Merlin had seen in his dreams, which was now looking at him in surprise and confusion.

Arthur, the once and future king, stood before him, dripping from the murky water.

“Merlin?”

That voice. Merlin had gone so long without hearing that voice, and it echoed in his chest.

“Merlin, what on earth’s name are you wearing? I leave for what, a couple of centuries? And you forget how to look after yourself?” At this, old familiar teasing he felt the tears begin to well up again, and he could see in Arthur’s face that he felt the same emotion behind his words.

“C’mere, you absolute prat!” Merlin managed to say through his sobs.

Arthur closed the space between them and dropped to Merlin’s level. Their arms wrapped around each other as the tears fell, though they were laughing too, and it felt like coming home, after all these years.

There was darkness coming, and they would need to face it.

They would figure out their place in this new world, and they would protect it.

If the people who had spoken of the mysterious, wandering man noticed his absence, they certainly would not have made the connection with the bright young couple who led the crusade against the darkness.

Arthur would laugh at the way his story had been spread and adapted. Sarah would welcome them in and share cup of tea after cup of tea. Perhaps Arthur would persuade her to rekindle her contact with the woman from the next stall over.

They would face the storm together, and they would save Albion, whatever that meant in this strange and unfamiliar time.

But they would do it together, and Merlin would no longer be the silent wanderer.

He had found what he had been waiting for, all those years, and he intended to hold on to it.


End file.
